Page 136 of What She Saw
Cody and I remained on-site for another hour before Grant appeared at the back fence. He scanned the scene, his gaze settling on me. When he seemed convinced that I was in one piece, he ducked under yellow crime tape and moved toward the officer safeguarding the scene. They spoke, another officer was summoned, and within fifteen minutes Grant was motioning me toward him.
I rose. Cody’s head perked up. And together we walked toward Grant.
“They have your contact information, and I’ve vouched for you,” Grant said. “You can leave.”
“Did you tell them about Susan?”
“I didn’t. I don’t want it getting back to Colton.”
“Good.” Cody followed me toward the back gate. I stopped and looked at the golden retriever. Shit, if I left him here, he’d end up at the pound. And at his age, he wouldn’t have many takers. I walked to the officer. “I’m taking the dog.”
“It’s not your dog,” the cop guarding the perimeter said.
“We’ve bonded. I’m not leaving him here.”
“You have her information,” Grant said.
“If anyone wants me or Cody, they can call. In the meantime, I need dog food.” I scooped up the water bowl and dumped out the water. After more discussion between the uniforms, an officer brought out a large bag of kibble and a leash.
“Thanks.” Cody looked at me. I hooked the leash to his collar. “Let’s go, Cody.”
Cody wagged his tail.
I took the dog food bag, and the three of us walked away from the scene. I turned on my Jeep’s engine, cranked the AC, and put Cody in the back seat.
“Do you know what to do with a dog?” Grant asked.
“Feed, walk, repeat, right?”
“A little more than that.”
“That’ll do for now?”
Grant looked past me to see if anyone was watching us. And then: “Did you contact Susan?”
“I texted her.”
Grant shook his head. “Why did you text her?”
“She needed to know.”
He checked his phone. “Her car is still at her house.”
“I never looked in her garage. Is there a second car?”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open, then. Cody and I are headed back to Taggart’s cabin if you need me.”
“Are you safe up there alone?”
His question wasn’t unreasonable but still felt a tad overprotective. “I have Cody.”
“He’s ten or twelve years old. And he greeted you like part of the family when you broke into the house. Twice.”
I rubbed Cody’s head. “He’s a good boy.”
“You’re assuming Brian Fletcher’s death was a suicide,” Grant said.
